Dimensions of Perception
by LordEvan
Summary: What is a fantasy and what is real? With a new companion, Harry will show everyone - be it wizards, soul reapers or other beings - that the border between the two has never been quite clear. Azkaban!Harry
1. Prologue

**Dimensions of Perception**

Prologue

Raindrops falling against the windows made a soft but steady drum, like that of a beating heart – unnoticed until it is gone. Of course the inhabitants of the room – and what a room it was: the office of a headmaster of Hogwarts – had what they thought were more important matters on their minds.

Of course, none of them spared a thought to the fact that the room was just as mundane as any other in the castle, and that having a discussion there would have been in no way different to the meeting they were holding now. Yet, it escaped the attention of the gathered people, that the headmaster's office was designated as such by mere men and it had its flaws.

Many vials glittered in the light, hidden safely from the outside world by the unbreakable glass. Yet the light could reach them and make their contents – various potions and poisons – shine with different colours. The same could be seen if one were to turn their attention away from the potions cabinets and onto the bookcases. There, like sleeping dragons old tomes laid, covered in dust, hoarding all their treasures – all the knowledge they possessed – hidden on their pages. How many opportunities missed! Their covers, usually black, now was revealed to be brown and cracked in places despite all the charms that were put on them for the sake of their preservation.

The bookcases themselves looked like exquisite pieces of carved woodwork, yet the light put an end to their fantastic legend of invulnerability. The holes and rattled doors, fractures and cracks were laid bare for all to see. One would have been surprised how much light from a simple old lamp could reveal, yet no one paid any attention to these earth-shattering revelations. Everyone believed that their topic was the most important.

"Now then, Severus, I believe you have some important information to share," an old man, dressed in a ridiculously colored robe – of course for him it was the most sensible choice in the Universe and the people around him were the real madmen for choosing something so inexplicably tedious to wear – said.

"Yes, headmaster," a man dressed in all black – he could easily compete for the title of chief madman among those who dressed like stones – stood up. "The Dark Lord is suspicious. He trusts his current followers less and less since the last two missions were sabotaged. Voldemort intends to break his imprisoned followers out of Azkaban."

There were gasps all around. Of course to the two men who were speaking the reaction seemed quite out of place. After all, from what they knew the Dark Lord's move was perfectly sensible. And fear of one's name... Dumbledore lost count of how many times he told everyone who would listen that the name was nothing to fear. Didn't they understand that victory demanded bravery?

"What do we do?" it was professor McGonagall who asked the question. According to Dumbledore, that woman could compete with Severus for the title of the queen of rocks. "Does the ministry even know they are going to be attacked? For that matter when is the attack going to take place?" she looked worried.

"The Dark Lord plans to attack tomorrow at dawn, he revealed the plan this late to not give any spies an opportunity to warn anyone," Snape replied with a sour look on his marble-like face.

"Arthur, please, alert madam Bones," Dumbledore asked the father of the Weasley family. The man stood up at once and nodded before disappearing in green flames.

"I believe we must now dedicate our meeting to planning the defence of Azkaban," Dumbledore looked around the room. His gaze swept by Mrs Hermione Weasley and Mr Ronald Weasley – newly married. The young woman already had a growing belly. The old man couldn't suppress and small smile at that – a new life! Indeed, light could be seen even in the absolute darkness, if one only tried to look. Next were Mr Neville and Mrs Luna Longbottom, another young family. Near them sat Fred and George Weasleys with their young wives as well as Ms Ginevra Weasley with her betrothed Cormac McLaggen. Not too far away from the young sat the "old guard": Moody, the teachers, the rest of the Weasleys with their respective families, Remus Lupin and Mrs Tonks-Lupin, his wife – ah, the aged headmaster was so glad that the gentle werewolf was finally able to find some joy in his life, especially after what happened to Sirius and Harry.

"But first," Dumbledore said coolly, "there is a matter of great importance. We all know _what_ is hidden in the depths of Azkaban. It must be guarded, it cannot fall into Voldemort's hands."

"I will guard him, professor," Ron said at once, steel in his eyes.

"I will too," Hermione followed her husband's example.

"No, you won't, Hermione," Ron argued immediately. "What if something happens to you? Think about the baby," he urged. Seeing the desperation and love in her husband's face, the young woman sighed and nodded.

"Fine," she sighed. "I won't go... But you'd better come back, Ronald Billius Weasley," Hermione finished with a glare.

"Are you sure, Mr Weasley?" Dumbledore asked in concern. "I know of your connection to it..."

"I'm an Auror, sir," Ron said with conviction. "I won't hesitate to do what must be done, should Voldemort break through our defences," he sighed. "Besides, I still want to know just... why he did it... I still can't understand."

"Very well, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore nodded amidst the uneasy silence.

* * *

 **AN:** I know this story looks like it belongs in the Graphomaniac's Outlet (and I honestly have no clue as to how it will develop beyond first three chapters), but I think it is promising. Reviews are of course always welcome.


	2. Chapter 1 Truths and Falsehoods

**Dimensions of Perception**

Chapter 1. Truths and Falsehoods

 _...and a touch of madness?_

Harry sat in his cell. He had been there since he was seventeen. He knew every stone, every crack and every little hole in the walls. There was no window for his dwelling was in the depths of Azkaban, deep underground, where not even a dementor would waste its time. He was the only prisoner here anyway.

His cell was larger than usual, or at least so he observed on the way here. When Harry was brought to this place by Aurors two years ago, he was led through the front gates – an enormous metal monstrosity made for intimidation – and through the corridors with many small cells on their sides... Until they reached the lift, which brought the youth and his escorts to a unlit dungeon. The way to his cell was rather short, merely a couple of corridors.

The cell itself was divided into two halves by a set of bars. Once a visitor entered the room through the tightly locked and charmed metal door that was as thick as Harry's wrist, they would get into the visitor space in front of the bars that had no doors. Behind the poles of enchanted goblin steel would be the prisoner himself, in this case, Harry.

One would think that the security was all too lax in this place, where the most dangerous criminals were supposed to be guarded. They just didn't know... Harry did. Despite him being the only prisoner on this level, the space around his cell was entirely too quiet, not even a sound from outside the metal door had reached him throughout his stay in Azkaban. There was no sound for a reason (aside from silencing charms on the cell), the beasts lurking in the walls and shadows of this part of the prison made no sound. Yet they were always ready, waiting for the convicts to try and get out of their cells.

Dementors wasted no time here, for the beasts that made this level their home scared even them.

When he was sentenced to life in the depths of Azkaban, Harry expected to go mad from exposure to dementors. He was wrong. It was the constant eternal silence that caused other monsters to appear in his cell. Stones suddenly grew eyes and teeth. His bed became a huge mouth with tentacles coming from it and the food that magically appeared every day grew claws and tore his flesh to pieces every day. It culminated in Harry being a whimpering incoherently sobbing ball on the floor half a year into his imprisonment. Then everything changed...

Silver light, that shone through a tiny window in the metal door, interrupted Harry's musings. He was surprised. No one was supposed to come here, not in this direction at the very least. Yet the light grew stronger every second. Harry was sure he was not allowed any visitors and any information the ministry could extract from him they did two years ago. So why was someone here?

The door opened and a tall man with ginger hair walked in, followed by a dog made of glowing silver light. He hastily closed the door. Of course, Harry recognized him.

"Long time no see," he said softly, not rising from his cross-legged position on the floor.

"Harry," Ron replied hoarsely as soon as he turned around and pointed his wand at the prisoner.

"What brought you here, if I might ask?" Harry looked at his once friend curiously. "I do not believe we parted on the best of terms and this place is hardly a good place for recreation, so I assume your presence here has a purpose."

"Voldemort's attacking," the redhead replied sourly.

"Ah," Harry nodded. "I see," he sighed softly and looked at the high ceiling. "I assume you are to kill me if the fierce battle above is lost."

"Yes," Ron said tersely. He didn't like the way his once friend so easily assumed control of the conversation. He was the Auror here, he was supposed to ask questions.

"I see you want to ask something, Ron," Harry spoke, his voice once again laced with this velvety feel. "Ask away, both of us hardly have anything better to do."

The Auror looked at the prisoner with narrowed eyes. He had heard the tales of the depths of Azkaban, or just the Depths. People went mad here even faster than in the fortress above where they were surrounded by dementors. So how was Harry so sane, never mind so casually polite?

"Why are you talking to me so pleasantly?" he asked at last.

A faint ghost of a smile crossed Harry's face. "What's the point in animosity right now?" the black-haired youth asked in return. "Both of us might very well be living our last few hours. It would be a waste to spend them indulging in useless bitterness. In the end, it will not change anything," a pleasant smile spread across Harry's face. He was looking at Ron motionlessly.

"How... How are you still sane?" the other man asked irately. "I heard about the Depths... You should be... well..."

"Mad?" Harry chuckled. "Perhaps. How can you safely determine that I am not mad?" he titled his head to the side slightly.

"But... But you can't be, you're just-" Ron stammered.

"Just like you?" Harry chuckled again, this time a little louder. "And who said that you yourself aren't mad? You know what they say about doctors and patients in asylums... It's a matter of who puts on the white coat first," he paused for a second. His eyes briefly becoming glazed over, until they focused once again. "But if you are wondering as to why I am in the same state of mind compared to the day I was thrown in here... Well, I owe it to a man and a woman..."

 _One and a half years ago_

 _Harry was sobbing on the floor. He was cold and hot simultaneously. He felt claws on his skin, teeth on his fingers and eyes, tentacles wrapping around him as his surroundings tried to consume him. Laughter... Laughter filled the room suddenly._

 _Who was laughing? Oh yes, himself. Why was he laughing? Oh yes, because no matter how many times he was eaten, in the end, his body would always be spit out. Next day everything would repeat. Until some day the Universe tires of him and sends him flying into oblivion with a casual flick of its wrist, or whatever substitute it had._

 _Suddenly there was motion in front of him. Motion and light, the first one he had seen in the gloomy darkness of his cell, bar a small wisp of magic that floated in the visitor half of the "room". A tall youth stepped out._

 _The teen with vibrant orange hair was dressed in black robes and had a huge sword strapped to his back. Harry didn't know how he registered it all, but he did. At least until the excitement of the new scenery subsided and the monsters flung themselves at him again. The prisoner curled on the floor and whimpered again as he felt sharp bony scales poking him and tearing at his flesh._

 _He would only later remember what happened next._

" _You sure it's him, Kyoka?" the redhead asked a woman that suddenly materialized to his right. She wore green robes and looked sickly with her pale face and inky black hair._

" _Yes," she breathed. "He is the one... I feel the pull..."_

" _But he's..." Ichigo looked at the whimpering man in front of him._

" _Damaged," Kyoka finished. "Yes, but I feel we can help each other."_

" _Wait..." Ichigo looked around. "We're in some kind of prison, he's a criminal!"_

" _A moment, Ichigo, I will not condemn a man at first glance," the woman knelt beside the shivering man and put the palm of her hand on his forehead._

 _"He is mad," she stated sadly. "But he is innocent – that much I know. He was framed... Even in his own mind, he was framed," Kyoka shook her head._

" _What do you mean?" Ichigo frowned._

" _Someone changed his memory," the woman replied. "And they did it masterfully. Had I not been an illusion-type zanpakuto, I would have never noticed..." Ichigo's eyes widened. "His guilt crushed him, but I am confident I can help him," Kyoka stood up and looked at the redhead intently._

" _Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly._

" _I am, Ichigo, thank you for helping me, I know I hastened the moment when your power leaves you completely," the woman looked at the teen with glistering eyes. "I will never forget you and your generosity," she breathed._

" _You're welcome, Kyoka Suigetsu," Ichigo nodded. "I just hope he would be a good partner to you."_

" _I know he will," Kyoka smiled. "You have to go, the more power you spend – the faster you lose it."_

 _The teen sighed and shook his head before turning around and stepping into the portal. "Goodbye, and good luck Kyoka Suigetsu," was the last thing he said._

 _"Goodbye, Ichigo," the woman replied softly before kneeling in front of the man shivering on the floor and turning into the green mist that settled on the gaunt grey skin._

"And Kyoka did help me," Harry finished his story with no small amount of fondness in his voice. "I don't know what I would be like if not for her. I now feel decidedly more complete."

"Who was that woman and the teen?" Ron asked with suspicion. "And how the hell did they get here? Where is the woman now?!"

"Kyoka Suigetsu and I bonded over the years, she became my zanpakuto. We're extremely close," Harry replied with a fond smile on his face. "She taught me much more than Hogwarts ever did..." he paused. "As to how Kyoka and Ichigo got in here, well, I guess it was via a Senkaimon, gate of the afterlife. And Kyoka is now in my inner word – my soul."

"You are mad after all," Ron shook his head. "And here I hoped for a normal conversation..."

"Well, we are all mad in some ways obviously," Harry replied serenely, with the same soft kind smile. "But you had a topic in mind before I told you about Kyoka, hadn't you?"

"Why did you do it?" Ron asked forcefully and suddenly, coming closer to the bars. His blue eyes shining in the dim light of the cell.

"I didn't," Harry replied simply, still smiling.

"Stop playing games with me, Potter!" Ron shouted, gripping the bars. "Tell me why you killed all those people!"

"Didn't you listen to my story, Ron?" Harry asked pleasantly. "I didn't kill anyone. I just had a false memory implanted in my mind," he explained patiently.

Ron's body shook, his hands turned white from the force of the grip they maintained on the bars. Then he sighed and hung his head. "Figures," he spat bitterly. "You mad raving murderer... Even after confessing under the truth serum..." he mumbled. "Of course you'd make a fancy story about your innocence in your mad fantasies..."

"What is a fantasy and what is a reality?" Harry asked softly. "What is the difference between the two?"

"Stop with this shit, your murderer!" Ron shrieked, looking at the other man with hatred that made Harry frown.

"Well, I see you will not listen to what I have to say on this topic," he said slowly. "Perhaps there is another topic you wished to discuss?"

"Shut up," Ron spat. "I don't want to hear a single sound from you."

"That's a rather faulty approach," Harry tutted.

"I said SHUT UP, you bloody swine!" the redhead's wand was pointing at Harry.

"Ron-" the prisoner started.

Before either of them could comprehend the words were already uttered. "Crucio!"

Harry felt pain, it had a blinding white colour, electric sound of his own screams and the searing touch of molten steel that seemed to have enveloped every inch of his body. Very soon the pain subsided and Harry was panting on the floor.

Ron took a step back, expression of true horror on his face. "What have I done?" he whispered, looking at his wand in shock. "What have I done?" he repeated.

"Ron," Harry whispered. The Auror looked at the convict and took another step back. "That's her," he said, holding a sword in his hand. It looked oriental with a rectangular silver guard and an emerald handle. "Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu," Harry uttered softly.

Ron didn't notice anything different. He blinked.

The sword was in Harry's hands no more. He stepped back instinctively and found his back pressed to a wall. His former friend smiled beatifically.

"Are you scared, Ron?" green eyes stared into the blue. "What a silly question," Harry shook his head merrily. "Of course you are... But Ron," he suddenly locked his gaze with his former friend's eyes again. "Do you know what it is that you are scared of?"

There was silence as green eyes bored into the blue ones. Ron started shaking. Harry's expression changed to sadness. "Poor Ron," he said compassionately. "The lack of knowledge of what's going on is torturing you... Believe me, I do feel for you," Harry's words radiated sincerity. "I lived through it after all..."

Suddenly the prisoner chuckled. "How interesting..." he chuckled again. "How utterly ironic, don't you think, Ron," green eyes shined with mischief, "that I, the imprisoned one, have to tell you, an Auror, what's going on," quiet laughter filled the cell. It was soft, like silk, its sounds coiling around Ron, suffocating the nervous man.

"But I think you will find the situation quite different indeed from what you expected..." Harry added just as softly. "It's time to wake up, Ron," he looked at the Auror benignly and uttered just three words: "Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu."

It was like a light-switch was flicked. Everything changed in a blink of an eye. The cell remained the same, only now there was Ron Weasley behind the bars, rolled up in a shaking ball, his ginger hair dirty and mangy and his stubble starting to show itself. Grey rags hung from his tall and muscular frame.

Near the metal door stood Harry Potter. His hair immaculately trimmed, his stubble absent. A black suit with a nice green tie could be seen under his scarlet auror robe. A katana in a white sheath, tied with a green-blue cloth to the man's belt.

"How peculiar," Harry said at last. His voice seemed to have snapped Ron from whatever he was thinking about. The redhead was on his feet at once. He ran to the bars and gripped them tightly. Or tried to at least. The magic, aimed to prevent inmates from escaping, flung him backwards, rather painfully too.

"What... What have you done?!" Ron roared as he sat up, fixing Harry with a look of utmost loathing.

"I have done... nothing," Harry shrugged, his smile never wavering despite the burning glare of his once friend.

"How did you do it?!" the redhead screamed. "How did you do it to me?! What did you do to me?!"

"You sound like your mind is malfunctioning," Harry replied, smiling. "You have been here for two years already... Or don't you remember how you were sentenced to all eternity in Azkaban for the murder of your own relatives and their entire neighbourhood in cold blood?"

"You did it!" Ron shrieked. He attempted another launch at the bars but was flung back just as ruthlessly. He sat up and panted. "I didn't do anything! I'm an _auror_! I have a wife! _You_ are the traitor?"

"Are you sure?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. "Maybe that was just an unpleasant dream?"

"Stop playing mind games with me, Potter!" Ron roared, his eyes drilling a hole in the other man.

"I told you earlier about doctors and madmen in an asylum," Harry smiled faintly, adjusting his glasses. "It's a matter of who puts the coat on first," he motioned to his red robe. "I did it first this time around."

Harry grinned as Ron screamed and promised bloody vengeance.

"Well, as much as I enjoy staying here, I've got a battle to ditch, bye Ron," he said cheerfully. "Oh, just one more thing, there are silencing charms on the cell, so don't worry about troubling anyone."

The metal door cracked close as silver light flared to life beyond it, but slowly go more and more dim, until at last, it disappeared.

In the complete silence of his cell Ron kept screaming.


	3. Chapter 2 Mad Fairies

**Dimensions of Perception**

Chapter 2. Mad Fairies

Escaping the battle of Azkaban was easy. In the panic and the soup of adrenaline and other hormones that permeated the air, it was just effortless to get into the full view of everyone. All he had to do afterwards was just use a fancy hado to attract as much attention as he could. Everyone looked at him as if they had seen a ghost.

Harry didn't waste his breath on all the people staring at him. Only three words left his mouth and they were addressed to another being completely.

"Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu."

It was so unfortunate for the wizarding world that nearly all of the Aurors and death eaters were present for that battle. It never helped that Voldemort was present, that he had brought with him prisoners from the ministry: some of the lords of the Wizengamot, the minister and other such people who Harry didn't recognize. He grinned as the feeling of their minds being under his control filled him with joy. He vanished in a second and looked on as the battle continued from above the clouds.

It looked like death eaters were winning. The young man slowly shook his head. No that wouldn't do at all. Voldemort's victory didn't quite fit in his plans.

Below, near the gates of the prison, Dumbledore was fighting the dark lord. Vicious and destructive curses were intercepted by animated rocks and odd animals running around. Pest was trying to distract Voldemort as the aged headmaster hurled spells of his own at his younger opponent. It was quite ironic that of the two of them, Dumbledore moved more frequently and with more grace. Well, considering who Tom Riddle was... His might as well have had curly grey hair with his rigid, blind and unchanging approach.

Harry laughed-out-loud. He had just seen another irony. The progress, the march into the future, was represented by an old man, while the voice of the past – tradition, prejudice and ignorance – were heralded by a (relatively) younger man. Ah, how wonderfully twisted.

Dumbledore was slowly gaining the upper hand. But the death eaters were slowly pushing the ministry and order forces back. The battle would end in a draw or in a death eater victory. Not the odds Harry liked. Well, when had the Universe ever been a stable place?

"Hado#31: Shakkaho," he pointed his palm at the largest group of death eaters he could see.

Violent crimson ball of flame descended from the skies, painting the clouds maroon, and struck the dark lord's servants, completely obliterating a good third of them. Only a crater and ash were left behind. Before anyone could look up, Harry was gone. At this point, the forces of light couldn't possibly lose.

xxx

Harry knew that his tricks during the battle of Azkaban could have attracted a lot of attention, but he was confident that wizards, being who they were, would just write everything off as some Merlin interference. They really were quite fond of their fantasies after all.

Flashstep brought him to London in a matter of an hour. He waved a wand over his face and applied a glamour. It would suit his needs until the people there were treated to his zanpakuto.

" _You can just make another flash of light above the city and make everyone watch it,"_ Kyoka suggested.

Harry pondered on the proposal for a moment, before smiling. "Thank you, Kyoka," he whispered softly. Only howling of wind was left behind as the young man ascended the sky above London until he could see all of the old city. He stopped and let the wind pay with his red coat.

"I wonder what kido is the most flashy..." Harry mumbled, one of his hands resting calmly on the handle of his sword, the other dangling freely. "I think that would do," he decided, the smile on his face growing wider by just a fraction. "Hado 88: Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raiho," Harry chanted, pointing his free hand away from the ground and at the empty expanse above.

Blinding flash of blue erupted from the palm of his hand and illuminating the sky blue. Clouds were blasted apart and even buildings below him trembled from the shock wave. Harry chuckled and bared his zanpakuto. People in the streets would look up just now. Those in the buildings would go to their windows...

He spoke just as softly: "Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu."

The feeling of control assaulted him once again as he felt the tendrils of his illusion coil around millions of souls. Harry chuckled. Well, it was time to visit dear old Diagon Alley.

As he quietly landed in the middle of the wizard enclave, Harry couldn't prevent the shock from registering on his face. The alley was nothing like before, when he was still a free man. There was trade booming again, it was once more a hub of activity. The young man looked around once again. "Of course," he chuckled after reading a newspaper one of the wizards was carrying.

" _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Gone Quiet!"_

" _Dumbledore Says: "Streets Are Safe"!"_

Of course, these wizards did like their fantasies Harry shook his head. He allowed them to see him, in a disguise naturally. Instead of Harry Potter, one Ronald Weasley was walking the streets.

Once he was in Gringotts, Harry spoke in Ron's voice: "I'd like information about Harry Potter's assets." No one could see him levelling Ron's wand at the teller and muttering a confundus spell. The clerk's face relaxed instantly into a broad smile.

"Ah, of course, Mr Weasley, give me just a minute," he replied merrily, before rising from his table and motioning for Harry to follow him. The young man did and after a short walk found himself in a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Another goblin was seated there behind a mahogany table.

"What's this?" the goblin behind the table asked angrily. "Who have you brought here, worthless clerk?"

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, sir, but this man would like to inquire about Harry Potter's assets," the teller replied nervously.

"Get out then!" the manager barked. When the lower goblin closed the door after himself, the manager looked at Harry sharply. "What do you want?" he asked unceremoniously.

Harry chuckled softly. "So many things any man would want in life," he replied. "And you already have a lot."

And indeed. The large office was decorated exquisitely. Large bookcases, lined with old dusty tomes, that reminded Harry of dead birds in their rusty wooden cages. A big golden chandelier hung from the high ceiling like a corpse, tiny crystals attached to its frame glistering like blood of ancient beasts, slain long ago. At last the desk, clearly carved by a master... Yet it was just another piece of wood. Harry could only guess how seating behind a piece of wood gave so much confidence to the goblin in front of him. Was magic involved? Hardly. Harry even snorted quietly at the thought. No, it seemed goblins liked their fairy tales too. Especially if the unused but highly polished gold and silver swords that hung from the walls were any indication.

"Why the swords?" Harry asked, looking around.

"What?" the goblin asked, startled.

"Why did you hang so many swords around your office?" Harry asked softly.

"Stop wasting my time, wizard, and state your business!" the goblin barked.

"Are you trying to demonstrate that you are still a warrior?" Harry continued, unperturbed by his interlocutor's earlier exclamation. "But you haven't held a weapon in your life," he remarked just as softly. It was enough. The goblin looked like his face was smacked by something heavy. "I wonder how many wizards believe the ruse," Harry continued. "You've made quite a good fairy tale..." he smiled benignly. "It is quite beautiful: so misleading," Harry chuckled. "A culture of bankers and a warrior culture – I wonder which is really the truth, but I digress..." the young man approached his account manager, undoing his disguise. The goblin gasped. "Yes, I would like to know my financial status if you will..."

"Yes sir," the manager numbly opened one of the drawers of his table and took a large folder out of it. He handed it over to Harry.

It read in bold red letters " _POTTER"._ The young man opened it. He flicked it to the end, for all the other information that was mere goblin fantasy was irrelevant to him. "Ah," he nodded. "So all of my money went to Ron and Hermione..." Harry hummed. He nodded again. "Good, the poor girl will need it, what with being married to a convict," Harry shook his head sadly. "Well," the young man stood up abruptly and willed Kyoka to disguise him again, "goodbye." In a burst of flashstep he was gone.

xxx

The battle of Azkaban was finally over. Albus breathed a sigh of relief. Voldemort and his death eaters were thrown away from the island after a brutal confrontation. They would be demoralized now; the Order and the ministry forces, on the contrary, would receive a morale boost. That was the first clear victory of the light. He sent his patronus to Mr Weasley to get back to the surface. Deciding not to burden the men and women with the debriefing now, he disapparated after telling them to meet tomorrow at 12 Grimmuald Place, Ron and Hermione Weasley's house.

The next day came and Albus gracefully stepped out of the fireplace in Number 12 Grimmuald Place. He was met by a teary-eyed Hermione.

"What is wrong, my dear?" he asked the girl.

"He-he hasn't come back yet," she sobbed. "I haven't seen Ron since before the battle," she finished, wiping her red puffy eyes with a handkerchief.

"Mr Weasley has not returned?" Albus asked, frowning. "Don't worry, Mrs Weasley, I will check the Depths after the meeting."

"Thank you, professor," she sobbed again.

The meeting started not long afterwards. Everyone was seated at a large table in the new dining room. After Ron and Hermione got everything that belonged to Harry, they redecorated the house. Some would call them gold diggers, some even did, but Albus knew better. Losing their friend left a hole in Ronald's and Hermione's souls. They redecorated the house in the memory of Sirius and Harry, there was even a small chest somewhere, painted emerald-green. That was where they kept all of Harry's personal belongings. The old man sighed: a day hadn't passed when he wasn't sorry for not doing everything in his power to prevent Harry from going down the path the young man ended up following. Alas, it was time to begin the meeting.

"Quiet down please," he said calmly. Silence was instantaneous. "Thank you. Now we are here to discuss the aftermath of the battle of Azkaban. The Aurors reported no escapees. Though they didn't report meeting Mr Weasley in the Depths, they checked what was kept there and reported it intact and secure. This is our first ever clear victory over Voldemort."

People cheered.

"Bullshit!" Moody interrupted the joy, earning himself many glares, especially from women, for his language. "We won because of that red flashy whatever that was. If not for it, we would've been smashed by Voldemort's scum to tiny little pieces."

"I believe it was an anomaly," Dumbledore replied. "We have reports of the same happening in the sky above London. Thankfully it stayed in the sky and nobody was hurt. The most plausible explanation, in this case, I believe, is that we witnessed some peculiar space irregularity, such things happen from time to time. We must be grateful that no innocents were hurt," the aged headmaster concluded. He could see thoughtful expressions, that slowly but steadily turned into those of agreement.

"Have we captured anyone?" Molly asked. The poor woman knew that her youngest son hadn't returned it seemed. Her puffy red eyes and the pitying glances she shot Hermione were a dead giveaway.

"Yes, a dozen low-ranking servants," Dumbledore replied. "They will be shipped off to another prison in Japan, I believe it will be the safest way to ensure that they are not freed by their master again," he paused. "On that matter, Mr Ronald Weasley, who was guarding the Depths during the battle, seemed to have disappeared. I need two people who will be willing to assist me in the initial investigation and then take over it completely."

"I will help you, professor," Neville replied. "Ron is my friend."

"I'll help too," Bill Weasley nodded. "I won't leave my younger brother alone when he needs help."

"Thank you, gentlemen," Dumbledore nodded. "We will go there tomorrow morning. Thankfully summer days start rather early. I will meet you at Hogwarts at 6 a.m." Both young men nodded. "Very well then. If nobody has anything else to say, this meeting is adjourned.

xxx

Azkaban was as gloom as usual. It seemed its grey rock absorbed light itself and gave nothing but oppressive darkness and sense of foreboding in return. Nothing about this place was pleasant, neither the rocky shores that looked like teeth of carnivorous giants, nor the waves that wanted nothing more, it seemed, than to drawn everybody who dares cross them. The wind was howling here, chilling people who came to the island to the bone and lifeless grey clouds passed by – testaments to solitude and despair.

Hermione couldn't help a shudder. She noticed that neither could her escorts, except for Professor Dumbledore, of course. But then again, the man was a legend. Nothing, it seemed, could hurt him: neither Voldemort, nor his death eaters, nor even Azkaban.

Hermione knew that what she saw in front of her was not the most horrible part of the prison. No, that questionable honour belonged to the Depths, buried deep underground, where her former friend was sealed away. And they were going right there, straight into the lion's maw.

The lift touched the ground softly. It didn't make a sound. Hermione gulped. The corridor in front of her was completely black and way too silent. It felt surprisingly full though as if something or somebody was inside and the blackness was merely a cloak, a distraction to deceive anyone brave or foolish enough to come here. Hermione suddenly gasped. She could swear she saw some movement down the corridor.

"Light your wands," Dumbledore ordered softly. "These corridors are indeed empty, but the utter silence is what makes them dangerous. There are no monsters but the ones you make up on your own. Cast a patronus if it makes you feel safer."

Hermione looked into the darkness once again and wasted no time summoning her otter, that basked the immediate area in silver light. She noticed Bill and Neville doing the same. The headmaster though just summoned a wisp of magic to light the way.

The corridor seemed longer than it really was. Hermione knew that they passed merely three corridors and two turns, but it felt like a real labyrinth.

"Illusion charms and imagination charms," Dumbledore spoke, looking at her. "It can't deceive us, but for the inmates that would have been an insurmountable obstacle due to their mental condition.

Hermione nodded, but she couldn't ignore the sensation of being watched... like a lone lamb at night. She almost missed the headmaster opening the door and ushering everyone inside.

It had been two days and Ron was starting to get nervous. He had not heard a sound not of his own making since the bastard Potter left. He knew he was innocent, he was Ron Weasley, an Auror. He was a wizard, he had a wife, oh yes dear Hermione. He knew they would come for him right after the battle was over.

But no one came.

There was only silence for him. He wailed and called for anyone, even Harry, in his despair. But no one replied. He thought he heard a chuckle, but the young man wasn't really sure. It must have been just a trick of his imagination. Yes, that was right, he knew it was a chuckle.

Until he heard another one.

Then yet another one.

Then the laughter came.

Maybe it was just a dream? But then, he didn't notice falling asleep. He didn't notice waking up either. How the hell was he even supposed to count days here? Or know what time of day it was?! There were only darkness and grey walls for him. He didn't like it. The walls didn't reply to his shouts, but they spoke in silence.

They laughed at him. At first, he wasn't sure, but then he heard the laughter again. It was rough. But it was real. The walls must have been laughing at Ronald Weasley! He couldn't help a chuckle that escaped him: there he was, tricked by Harry into taking his place, something he wanted all his childhood. Something he didn't care about after graduating Hogwarts. Now he had it, he was in the place of Harry Potter.

The walls found it amusing. No, wait. The walls were not alive. They couldn't be. No, of course they couldn't be. But who was laughing then? Himself? That didn't make any sense. Ron brought his hands to his temples and shook his head. It just didn't _make sense_. What was going on with him?! Was it Harry's doing? It had to be. Yeah, it had to be.

The door was suddenly open and silver light flooded the cell, making Ron shield his eyes with the palm of his hand. As he adjusted to the change in his surroundings, the young man brought this hand down and looked at his guests. A wave of relief overcame him as he laughed.

"You're finally here, guys!" Ron jumped to his feet and grinned. "C'mon let me out, this place is driving me nuts!"

He was met with incredulous stares.

"What game are you playing, Harry?" Bill asked with narrowed eyes.

"What, I'm not Harry!" Ron exclaimed. Really, he might not be looking well after whatever amount of time he spent in this hole, but his hair should be a dead giveaway! "It's me, Ron," he said, seeing that his friends weren't impressed with his previous statement.

"Stop it, Harry," Hermione said quietly, looking at Ron with sadness in her eyes.

"I'm not Harry," Ron pleaded. "Bill, it's me, your brother Ron," the other redhead's lip curled in barely concealed disgust. "Hermione?" the youth looked at his wife. She was bound to recognize him, despite any tricker Harry might have done. "It's me, your husband."

"Shut up, Harry!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Hermione, please," he begged, "Our child-"

"Shut up, you despicable swine!" she hissed, levelling her wand at him.

Ron blanched, the feeling of betrayal cutting through his skin and bone effortlessly until it pierced his heart. "No..." he took a step back. "No, I'm... I'm not Harry, I'm Ron... I'm Ron... I'm Ron!" he screamed. "I didn't commit any crimes!"

"He's quite mad it seems," Dumbledore noted calmly. "Unsurprising after two years here."

"Professor, please," Ron pleaded. "Harry, it's all him! He bewitched me somehow!" the young man exclaimed almost hysterically. "Please, you have to believe me, it's all that damned sword of his!" he rambled.

"I told you once, Harry Potter was dead to me after what you have done," the aged headmaster replied coldly. "Harry was like grandson to me. The generous and unconditionally kind boy I knew wouldn't have done what you did," the old man's voice started trembling at the end.

"I'm not Harry, professor, I'm Ron!" the youth exclaimed. Dumbledore sighed and nodded to Neville, who took out his auror badge and pressed it against a specific brick. The bars slid into the floor.

No sooner than Ron made the first movement, some Dumbledore's spell had him painfully pressed against the wall. He watched helplessly, unable to move a single muscle, as Hermione took out a vial of clear liquid and handed it to the aged headmaster. The old man uncorked it and forced Ron's mouth open. The youth was too numb to protest. He felt three drops touch his tongue and then his mouth was forcefully closed.

"What is your name?" Dumbledore asked.

Ron barely had time to rejoice as his jaws started moving all on their own.

"Harry James Potter," he said to his own utter shock. But Dumbledore and his companions, it seemed, were expecting such a result. Ron looked at them in despair, feeling his eyes fill with tears. How could it be? He was "Harry James Potter", he repeated outloud. No, that wasn't right. He was-

"Harry James Potter," his lips repeated frantically.

"Silence!" Neville barked. He sighed and looked at Ron, not bothering to hide all the sadness, disappointment and disgust in his eyes. "What's your date of birth?" he demanded.

"31st of July, 1980," Ron replied numbly. But it wasn't the truth!

"Why were you sentenced to Azkaban?" Dumbledore asked.

"I killed my aunt and uncle, their son and all their neighbours," Ron's voice said.

No, it wasn't right! He was Ron Weasley, he was innocent!

"Where is Ron Weasley?" the headmaster continued.

"He escaped," Ron's voice replied. The youth hung his head and sobbed. He felt some unknown force lift his chin up so that he was looking his visitors in the eye.

"Your shame is thoroughly deserved," Dumbledore spoke coldly. The voice made the stones digging into Ron's back sharper. "Why did he leave?"

"He ran away from Voldemort," Ron said and released another sob.

Everyone in the room was stunned.

"Why?" Hermione whispered. Veritaserum forced Ron's mouth to talk.

"He never believed in your victory," Ron's lips moved as he sucked in a deep breath. It was such a lie. A horrible lie, he wanted nothing more than to shout, but the moment he tried, his tongue would turn into stone.

"Where did he go?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," Ron hung his head, only to feel something lifting his chin again.

"You will not escape your shame for what you did to Harry," Dumbledore's trembling voice spat. "Something's wrong here," the headmaster started pacing. "If young Ronald did indeed speak to _it_ , then he must have come here. Why bother? Why not leave immediately?" the old man asked himself.

Ron felt elation and allowed a smile. There was no way some cheap focus Harry performed on him could trick Albus Dumbledore. If anyone could see through his former friend's conspiracy, it was his old headmaster.

"He said he wanted to have some vindication, to tell me that it was all my fault," Ron's lips were moving again. "He used the cruciatus on me, said it was a thank you for bringing his world to ruin," the youth finished. He suddenly felt pressure on his body increase. He gasped.

"Why would he leave his family?" Dumbledore demanded. "Did he tell you?"

"He-he didn't want a child," Ron replied in-between gasps. "H-he said..." another gasp escaped his mouth, "he said he had another... another woman." he finished, now openly crying. Nobody seemed to notice.

Dumbledore was upon him in a moment, forcing his mouth open once more and feeding him another potion. The haziness of Veritaserum was gone.

"P-please, h-headma-ster," Ron gasped. "I-it's all Ha-arry, ple-ease, I-I'm Ron!"

The old man just shook his head. "Madness," he spat, "is a fitting end for you."

The bars were raised again before whatever force was holding him let go, and Ron collapsed on the floor panting, taking deep breaths. He almost didn't notice the door closing behind Bill and silver light disappearing.

His crying was not heard outside of his cell, neither were his screams and pleas. The walls started laughing again...

* * *

 **AN:**

 **After reading vampwalker709's review I would like to say that I have not abandoned any of my fanfics. The Dark Lord of Many faces is currently being rewritten and its first chapters are only one step away from being published. Icy Heart series, however, is still waiting.**

And yes, thank you for your wonderful reviews! They are like ambrosia for me.


	4. Chapter 3 Tesseract, part I

**Dimensions of Perception**

Chapter 3. Tesseract, part I

Harry opened his eyes as the pilot announced that the plane was going to land in Tokyo in half an hour. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Through the reinforced glass of the window nearby a bonfire of city lights, stretching for miles and miles could be seen. It was different from London, Harry decided, certainly much more intense.

Of course, London would be a rather dim place at the moment, and not only because of the morning fog or the grey clouds. The normal people wouldn't notice, but the wizards were bound to. In fact, there would probably be something like a supernova explosion in the media once the purebloods learned of just what Harry had done. The weasel Malfoy would no doubt be the first one, an early riser that Lucius was.

After being treated like Harry was, the young man desired nothing more than to leave Britain. Unfortunately, with all his assets confiscated, he was effectively penniless and therefore stuck on the island. He had to rectify the situation. The solution was obvious as usual. While Harry could not rob Hermione or Dumbledore – he wanted them to win the war, which would require funds – the Death Eaters were fair game. That was exactly the reason why the Malfoys, the Rowlies, the Rosiers and some other purebloods were now proud owners of empty space inside Gringotts vaults.

There were several items he took from Hermione however. To be honest, he was quite touched by the green chest – it was so nice of his friends to store all his personal belongings in such a way. He couldn't stay to say thank you, though, as Harry was very eager to get out of Britain. And with the world open to him, the young man was not going to wait for anything any longer.

Well, that was not completely true. While the world was indeed open to Harry, he felt that he simply couldn't move on without saying the last "thank you". Kyoka Suigetsu told her new wielder what Ichigo Kurosaki had sacrificed to defeat Aizen and bring the dying zanpakuto to Azkaban. Such sacrifices were to be honoured. Harry felt, that since he couldn't do much for Kurosaki, he at least owed the boy some properly expressed gratitude (even if it was only a "thank you"). That was one of the reasons he took the plane to Japan over any other country.

Such were Harry's thoughts as the train carried him from Tokyo to Karakura (thank Merlin for translation charms, the young man knew he would be like a fish on land without that handy spell). It was early morning already, the sun was peaking over the horizon, painting the sky and the surrounding landscape bright orange.

Of course there were other reasons for travelling to Japan – a man rarely did something with only one purpose in mind, especially travelling. That second reason was quite easy: Harry was in no shape to travel right now. The young man would love to punch whoever dared to say that to his face, but deep inside he knew that the healthy exterior he showed to everyone who saw real him was nothing but an illusion, a product of spellcraft. They could not be allowed to see his weakness: how utterly thin he was, how his hands would shake every few minutes, how gaunt his face was. Merlin knew he hated that look enough. The fact that Japan was half a world away from Britain also played its role.

The train sped past the small mountains, the seaside, the fields and the urban areas. At last, it arrived in Karakura town. The distorted voice – so corrupted by the dynamics or recording equipment that one couldn't say if it was male or female – was his signal to take off.

The town Harry found himself in was quite different from London suburb. For one the young man thought he was in a middle of a small city, not at all a suburb the likes of Little Whinging. Well, that was expected – Harry was aware of the lack of space in the country. All the houses were pressed neatly together, their effort to save some space was almost visible. There was also little grass, mostly asphalt and concrete. Despite it still being an early morning, Harry was able to see active and rather busy traffic already.

He sighed. Without studying a map of the city days prior and securing a small house for himself via the internet Harry would have felt utterly lost in this buzzing nest. How did Kurosaki live here? Then again, he reminded himself, people were different, each and everyone had different tastes. Perhaps even Harry would like it here after he lived in the city long enough.

It didn't take long to walk to the house Harry was about to buy. It was a small modern-looking townhouse with two floors and large floor-to-ceiling windows. The artificial fireplace added that homely feel, as did the cushions and couches, small tables here and there and strategically placed lighting. Somehow not one of the five rooms seemed cramped, indeed they were quite spacious. All in all, it was the opposite of what was considered normal in England. Harry loved it.

xxx

It had been three days since Harry moved into his new house. He managed to establish some sort of routine: he would wake up, do some exercises to wake up, then go to the bathroom and have his breakfast. The days would be filled with walks around the town, occasional observation of Ichigo Kurosaki and some real physical training to get back in shape. To finish his day the evenings would be filled with small but satisfying suppers and an entertainment of some kind.

Karakura town had many layers to it, Harry found out. Of course it would have been stupid of him to assume otherwise, but still. London was fundamentally different, it was like a flat surface, with magicals and normal people dispersed in different areas. Karakura was a many-dimensional space, with so many events happening in the same place, yet never even coming close to touching each other.

He expected to see a human town and a soul reaper practice area with some odd hollow walking here and there. He did not expect to feel the sheer density of reatsu in the air, neither did he expect to find some other strange group of humans lingering on the outskirts of the town.

Harry certainly didn't expect one of them to start bothering Ichigo Kurosaki.

During one of his observations of Kurosaki Harry witnessed a rather interesting situation. A man by the name Ginjo was some kind of spiritually aware humans.

"What do you think, Kyoka?" Harry asked quietly, obscured from passers-by on top of one of the roofs.

" _I don't have any ideas, Harry,"_ the zanpakuto spirit confessed. _"Sosuke has never studied something like that."_

Well, that was one of the moments where Harry wanted to sigh. Evidently old habits died hard, even among zanpakutos. The young man tried, he really did, to get Kyoka not to think of humans as walking guinea pigs – evidently, he failed. Regardless, that was a problem for another day. That man contacting Kurosaki – it looked quite suspicious to Harry. Well, he would say his thank you today, the young man decided. With this in mind, he followed the Kurosaki boy to his home.

The Kurosaki clinic wasn't all that much bigger than Harry's house, albeit it did look less modern if only just a little. Harry's house did have a bigger garden though, and his place was certainly quieter. But then again it was just another layer of the Kurosaki household he decided, one that included their goof of a father attacking his eldest son – for whatever reason Harry couldn't fathom. It certainly didn't look like abuse, since even in reatsu emanating from the house the young man could feel no malice, only happiness with a hint of frustration and sadness. With a sigh, Harry decided to get it over with and flashstepped right to the entrance door before ringing a bell.

There was a sound of footsteps, very light footsteps. Therefore Harry concluded that it was unlikely that either Kurosaki or his father would be the one to open the door. He was right. In a moment a young girl with black hair and a deep scowl on her face was looking back at him. So Kurosaki had a sister.

"Hello," Harry said softly. "I would like to talk to Mr Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Big brother?" the girl asked. "What do you want with him?" she demanded, her scowl getting even deeper.

Harry though was unaffected. He could understand close friends being overprotective. He supposed family would be the same way.

"I am afraid I can't share this information with you," Harry shook his head. "I need to speak with your brother personally."

"Fine," she replied after staring at the young man for nearly half a minute. "Come in."

"Thank you," Harry nodded as he followed the girl into the house. She left him in the living room and presumably went to fetch Kurosaki from upstairs. Of course, it had to be the exact moment a tall middle-aged man, who looked a lot like Ichigo walked into the room, that had to be the boy's father. He was startled at seeing the guest it seemed.

"Hello," he greeted Harry. "Who are you, Mr...?" he asked neutrally.

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry inclined his head. "I am here to talk to your son, Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Name's Isshin," the man nodded. "May I ask what you need from my son?"

Harry was quite surprised, even if he didn't allow it to show. That was not the goofy man who Harry witnessed attacking his son and then proceeding to have a brawl with the teenager, apparently in good humour. The man in front of him was serious, icily serious. A corner of Harry's lips went up just a fraction. This town did have many layers to it, of course so would its people. And Isshin Kurosaki was definitely much more than he allowed others to see.

"I just wanted to thank him," Harry replied easily.

"Thank him?" Isshin asked with some suspicion crawling in his voice. "May I ask for what?"

"With all due respect it is between your son and me," Harry replied softly, never taking his eyes off the man in front of him. He saw the black eyes narrow.

"Oi, goat-face," a masculine voice called. "Let me have some space, will ya?"

Harry turned to the stairs and saw a tall orange-haired teenager descending to the ground floor. Well, Kurosaki had definitely grown over the past two years. The young man was pleased for some reason that the teen, having obviously recognized Harry, did not show any signs of shock or surprise.

"But delinquent son of mine, how do I know then that you are not getting up to some nefarious schemes?" Isshin exclaimed dramatically. Ichigo sighed in irritation and scowled at his father. The man raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! Teenagers these days!" he exclaimed and left the room.

"So?" Ichigo asked, looking straight at Harry. "It's you."

"It is," Harry nodded. "My name is Harry Potter."

"Ichigo Kurosaki," the teen replied. "So what brought here?" he crossed hands over his chest.

"I merely came to say thank you, Mr Kurosaki," Harry replied. "I mean you no harm."

The youth still seemed unconvinced. Harry frowned. What could cause such fundamental distrust to people saying a simple "thank you"?

"I see you have doubts," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Ichigo snorted.

"You're from Britain, and you were in prison," the teen said dryly. "Why did you bother coming here? What're your goals?"

Harry corked his head to the side slightly.

"For now mostly to get healthy again, to admire the scenery and then to go travelling around the globe in near future," Harry replied. Ichigo's eyes narrowed further.

"So you're staying somewhere around here then?" the teen asked.

"The other side of the town, not too far from the river," Harry replied with a nod, he was quietly impressed with how quickly the teen could fish useful information out of his answers. "I didn't want to bother you with my presence," he added.

"So why are you here then?" Ichigo sighed.

"I see," Harry nodded to himself before locking his gaze with brown eyes. "You distrust me fundamentally. There is nothing I can say right now that will make you think otherwise. Well... I'll just say what I have to say and be on my way then, is that acceptable?"

"Yeah," Ichigo inclined his head, hands still crossed over his chest.

"Well, I know your story from Kyoka. I saw it in the memories she had of her stay with Aizen," Harry started, causing the teen's eyes to widen just a fraction. "I know you sacrificed your soul reaper powers to defeat Aizen. You had to let go of your zanpakuto," a pained look briefly crossed Ichigo's face before being squashed by the indifferent mask – at least now Harry knew it was a mask. "These sacrifices are to be honoured. I will also honour what you gave me. Kyoka will never be mistreated again. I have only one way to express my gratitude to you and all the respect I have for you, Ichigo Kurosaki. I can only say: thank you. You've changed my life in the ways you can't imagine," Harry caught his breath. "That's it. Goodbye, Ichigo Kurosaki," Harry turned around and calmly left the house, noticing that the teen was thoughtful and wore a tired expression on his face. It didn't look right. But that was a problem for another time when the teen wasn't so hostile towards him. With this in mind, Harry flastepped to his home.

"I know we will meet again, Ichigo Kurosaki," was the last thing Ichigo heard from his guest.

 **AN:**

 **The chapter is short, I know, but it is more of a prelude to the next one.**

 **Nitroexpress:** We will see, won't we? ;)

 **jh831:** No one put Ron under any lie spells. It was all Kyoka's influence. Ron was telling the truth, but everyone, himself included, could hear only what Harry wanted them to hear.


	5. Chapter 4 Tesseract, part II

**AN:** I decided to try a slightly different way of formatting my text. It worked quite well, at least in my opinion, I thjnm I'll apply it to the following chapters. Whp knows, if I am not overcome by my laziness I might even apply it to the previous chapters.

* * *

 **Dimensions of Perception**

Chapter 4. Tesseract, part II

 _Existing in four dimensions, a tesseract has sides and angles we cannot comprehend but only imagine to the best of our modest abilities._

The first sign of trouble on that fine day greeted Harry just as he was approaching his house after a nice morning run in the park. The unmistakable feel of spiritual pressure sang to the young man's senses. All in all he would not have been surprised - what with Kurosaki's friends running around - but the odd presence was stationary and what's more, it was right in his house.

One would expect Harry to run there as fast as he could, zanpakuto blazing in his , they would be quite foolish. To rush to an enemy who was clearly prepared and waiting for him would be most naive. Running straight to a potential trap was something the old Harry would have done, but after meeting Kyoka Suigetsu Harry simply knew better. Therefore he walked calmly to his house, thinking on his feet. His wand was in a holster hidden under his track pants so magic was an asset. If it failed to help, the young man would simply use Kyoka Suigetsu's power and deal with the intruder... after a nice long interrogation of course.

"Bakudo #26: Kyokko," Harry murmured. He felt the kido wash over him and nodded to himself. Good thing that Kyoka managed to teach him quite a number of techniques during his stay in Azkaban - that was probably the only good thing that came from his imprisonment.

The young man crept quietly into his house, which wasn't that hard since the intruder left the door ajar. Harry frowned, but kept on moving further into the hall.

"My, such impressive reatsu control," a male but surprisingly light voice said, almost sang really. "I'm lucky to have a hundred years of experience," the same voice chuckled.

Harry suddenly found himself visible with a zanpakuto held inches from his throat. His eyes trailed the metal of the blade and finally came to a stop at the tall man in green Japanese shirt and haori, a green and white striped hat covering his dirty blond hair. Harry couldn't see the man's eyes, yet he got that distinct feeling of being dissected that only Dumbledore's gaze had ever given him in the past. He was paralyzed by shock, treacherous fear that rose from the pit of his stomach and settled as a lump in his throat. He was found out so easily.

 _"Oh no,"_ Kyoka said in his mind. _"This is Kisuke Urahara - you are no match for him!"_

"I have magic on my side," Harry replied mentally. He got the feeling of resignation back from his zanpakuto.

 _"It won't work on a man like him,"_ Kyoka replied evenly. _"Urahara is way too powerful and clever, he has more tricks up his sleeve than you do."_

Great. Just Great. Harry sighed. So he had just met Karakura version of Dumbledore. He had a sword at his throats and his own zanpakuto wasn't even materialized. What's worse, Harry knew he would have his head sliced off if he so much as attempted to get his wand. If he survived the encounter, he would place the holster on a wrist, not the damn ankle!

"A penny for your thoughts?" Urahara asked pleasantly.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the man. "And what the hell are you doing in my house?" Inwardly he felt a sense of approval radiating from Kyoka. Yes, playing ignorant - of Urahara's identity if not the spiritual world in general - was the best choice here.

"Oh! How rude of me!" Urahara exclaimed theatrically. "I'm Kisuke Urahara, a humble shop keeper and a handsome businessman," he introduced himself with flourish.

"Is pointing swords at people a part of Japanese business strategy then?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. The man chuckled in reply.

"That's not a part of our general service kit I'm afraid," Urahara replied merrily, "but we do get special customers like you from time to time, stranger-san."

Harry smirked. Two could play the game.

"But I am just a humble traveller," his smirk grew wider even as prepared as he was to materialize Kyoka any second now, " who just happened to settle in Karakura town for now."

"Oh I can certainly understand that!" Urahara said in a sing-song voice. "After all there are so many nice things here to catch a traveller's attention in our quiet town: the parks, the river, the the forests not too far from here... A certain orange-haired teenager..." he suggested innocently.

Harry had to give it to Urahara: the man could play the game well, as good as Dumbledore if not better. This "humble shopkeeper" knew of Harry's visit to Ichigo, possibly even about his conversation with the boy the previous day. Urahara sure was well-informed. Harry wasn't defeated just yet however.

"Yeah," he nodded enthusiastically, "but maybe the many endearing qualities of teenage girls can be discussed with some nice tea rather than a zanpakuto?"

Urahara let out another chuckle. "You're not that bad," he commented and sheathed his blade. "And I would never reject an invitation to a cup of nice tea!" the man grinned.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. At least he was no longer under a threat of beheading.

 _"Just what makes you think that Urahara would need a zanpakuto to kill you?"_ Kyoka asked sternly. _"Don't be so naive, Harry. I didn't tell you much about the Soul Society in hopes you would never need all that knowledge until after your death, but well..."_ she huffed. _"Kisuke Urahara is possibly one of the most powerful soul reapers._ _ **Don't**_ _underestimate him,"_ she explained with a distinct ring of steel to her voice. _"It might be the last mistake you make. It certainly was the last one of Sosuke's."_

Harry could only nod. To think that was not sharing a room with a Japanese Dumbledore, but with a much more powerful version of the old man made his feet feel wobbly. He numbly walked into the kitchen and started the kettle. By the time the young man brought tea to the living room Urahara was already seated on one of the couches, staring at one of the windows. For some reason this position didn't strike him as distracted in Urahara's case.

"So what brought you to my house, Urahara-san?" adding honorifics in such a way felt strange to Harry but then again he had to get used to Japanese way of speaking if he was to have a home in this country. The young man took one of the cups filled with steaming tea and sipped it quietly.

"Well, Potter-san," Urahara replied nonchalantly, "I just wanted to know more about a potential client. Oh don't look so surprised," the man chuckled and waved a fan, that appeared virtually out of nowhere, at Harry's shocked face, "I've checked the papers on this property. They had your name all over them."

"You're awfully well-informed," Harry said, narrowing his eyes at his uninvited guest. "I can't imagine anything else about me that could possibly be of any interest to you."

"On the contrary," Urahara smirked as he sipped his tea, "I find you quite fascinating, Potter-san, you came here all the way from Britain and with soul reaper powers no less..."

Harry didn't need to look up from his own cup to feel the man's sharp gaze drilling in him. "My, you seem to know about me just as much as I do," the young man chuckled.

"Ah, but it's natural for a good businessman to know his clients," Urahara grinned. "So many interesting people hang around here, one has to keep track of them."

"So I am interesting," Harry tilted his head to the side.

"Of course you are!" the other man exclaimed dramatically. "It's not every day that I meet people like Kurosaki-san," he finished slyly.

 _"He knows!"_ Kyoka exclaimed. _"He knows you have soul reaper powers!"_

At this revelation Harry was hard-pressed not to show his shock. Judging by the shift in Urahara's pose, he failed.

"I see you are familiar with the young man I've just mentioned," the shopkeeper pressed his advance. "I can't really blame you for taking an interest in him... But I can't help wondering about your intentions, especially given your nature."

The tea was almost gone, what little was left in the cups had long ago lost its heat and become cold, having transferred its heat to the conversation.

"My nature?" Harry asked curiously, trying to drive the conversation away from Kurosaki.

"You are a soul reaper of course," Urahara replied calmly. "But you are not from the Soul Society, in fact, you are not even dead yet. You are what we call a substitute soul reaper."

"A substitute soul reaper eh?" Harry chuckled. At least it was better than the boy-who-lived. "So what?"

"I'm glad we are getting to the point," Urahara smiled again. "Substitute soul reapers are very rare, you are just the third in the entire world history actually," the smile slipped from his lips. "So what would you want with the second one?"

"Well, my zanpakuto did warn me that some people might feel overprotective of him," Harry shrugged, dropping the act. "But I expected this from his friends or family, not a random shopkeeper."

"Kurosaki-san and I have a very good business history," the man smiled.

"Whatever," Harry replied. "I just came to say thanks."

"To say thanks?" Urahara scratched his cheek with his fan. "One has to wonder how you would even know Kurosaki-san..."

"He helped me out a couple of years ago," Harry replied calmly.

"I see," the other man replied thoughtfully.

For some reason Harry believed that the man said that not just to fill a pause in the conversation. Urahara was like Dumbledore with that frightening tendency to figure things out with the barest minimum of information. The young man could only hope that he hadn't said too much.

"Ah well," Urahara stood up, "this conversation has been most illuminating!" he grinned at Harry. "If you need any information or help come to Urahara Shoten, Potter-san!" he tipped his hat. "Although I must say I would like another conversation with you. You are a very interesting individual."

"Who knows, maybe we'll meet again," Harry replied carefully.

"Who knows indeed," the smile on Urahara's lips stretched just a little but it was wise enough to completely expose the man's fangs. "Goodbye, Potter-san," he said finally before disappearing in flashstep."

Harry shook his head at the empty space where his guest used to stand a moment ago. Well, that could have been worse, at least he was still free and alive. In the back of his mind the young man could feel Kyoka's agreement. A rather loud ramble in his stomach brought Harry back to reality. He had yet to have breakfast. With a sigh he went to the kitchen to get those rice balls started.

* * *

In the meantime another conversation was happening in Number 12, Grimmuald Place. It fit the house really, with all the resurrected gloom and darkness. Despite Hermione's best efforts she couldn't bring herself to look at her home like she did before. So many things were reminding her of Ron and what he had done. The previously cheerful or calm colors were now daunting and oppressive. It was as if time itself was in disagreement with what had been done to renovate the house.

"I am very sorry, my dear," Dumbledore consoled Hermione after yet another Order meeting. The dining room was now empty save for the two of them.

Hermione was heartbroken after learning of the circumstances surrounding Ron's disappearance or rather escape. To think that Ron could be this deceiving to throw her love right back at her. To think that he was capable of abandoning their child.

"Could Harry have lied?" Hermione asked, "You know he is like that," she said bitterly.

Dumbledore just shook his head slowly. "No one can lie under the influence of veritaserum, Mrs Weasley, not even Harry," he sighed softly. "I am afraid that everything he told us is the truth."

"I should have noticed the signs," she said suddenly, " that look in his eyes... It was telling," Hermione's eyes hardened.

"My dear, I have seen young Mr Weasley when he was talking about your child, and even I, with all my decades of experience, noticed nothing," Dumbledore said gently. "Don't descend into the realm of paranoia. You need to think about your baby."

"He will grow without a father," Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Oh god, he will have no father..." Her baby boy - and she knew it was a boy, spells were useful like this - would grow in a broken family.

"But with a wonderful mother," the aged headmaster smiled tenderly, snapping Hermione's out of her thoughts. She looked at the man before her, who nodded. "And I am sure Arthur and Molly will more than enjoy being grandparents to your son."

"Yes," Hermione's nodded. "You are right, sir."

"I am glad I could help," Dumbledore replied, standing up. "I should get to the ministry, with so many pure blood families out of the picture and goblins out for blood the situation there is still most dire."

Hermione saw the headmaster out and went to bed. She collapsed on the soft mattress, completely exhausted. She was still hurting from Ron's betrayal, but maybe, just maybe her son would help her. Yes, she would call Ginny tomorrow: they had to finish decorating the nursery after all. Hermione fell asleep thinking how sweet it was of Ginny to volunteer to help her with all the preparations for the birth of one William Sirius Weasley.

* * *

As Dumbledore appeared in a swirl of green flames in one of the fireplaces in the Ministry atrium he did not pay attention to the people around him, even if the crowd did go out of their way to make a corridor for the elder man.

Why would young Ronald leave so abruptly? He had a good family here, in fact, Albus himself was fairly certain that the joy on the young man's face when he was speaking about his child the other day was genuine. Dumbledore was inclined to trust his initial assessment, and the youngest son of the Weasley family wasn't exactly a guru of deception - or even moderately adept at acting. Yet veritaserum left no room for lies and whatever Harry said had to be true. It was very confusing, but the confusion in itself was another lead, one Albus fully intended to explore.

"Get your hands off me, you filthy wizard!" a goblin yelled at the reception worker. "And don't you dare touch my bag you imbred idiot!"

Perhaps later then, Albus decided as he put on his best smile and went to mediate the conflict before curses and daggers started flying.

* * *

It was a week later that Harry took a break from his routine. Usually he would wake up and go on a morning run, then have a proper workout and soul reaper training after breakfast, and the evening would be dedicated to entertainment and generally getting to know Japanese culture.

The afternoon was rather hot, dragon-flames-hot to be precise. In fact Harry was sweaty just from walking from his house to Urahara's shop. The man called yesterday and invited the youth to his place for another talk and possibly some training. The reason for such suspicious generosity was unknown, and that troubled Harry.

* * *

AN2: Replying to your reviews:

Charles Ceaser: Who knows...


End file.
